


center of the labyrinth

by bubbleteabunny



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 11:17:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13122621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bubbleteabunny/pseuds/bubbleteabunny
Summary: Loki thinks he has everything figured out. But you're there to prove him wrong.





	center of the labyrinth

No one has ever seen your face.

And you seem perfectly fine with that. It only makes sense that you should, given you’re the one who organizes the masquerade balls in the first place. They’re quite the talk of the nine realms. Everyone must be admitted with a mask, which is to remain on for the duration of the evening. It’s the air of mystery that appeals to so many: there is no guestbook, so it’s never quite certain who’s in attendance each gala. One could be seeing the same exact people, or a whole new set from fete to fete. When standing against a wall of the enormous hall, looking out towards the floor, it is a sea of masks, a blur of unknowns and uncertainties.

You’re somewhere in there, but no one can know for sure which one might be you. There has been a person here and there that claims they’ve spoken to the princess herself, but descriptions of you and what you could look like are all over the place, and there seems to be an agreement after a long bout of this that perhaps someone has genuinely talked to you, or perhaps they didn’t, but the fact of the matter is on one would quite know 100%, and the matter should be left alone, because it’s clear you have no intention of revealing yourself. This leads to speculations that it’s possible you actually  _aren’t_ in that ballroom with all the guests, having organized this party for so long that it’s set up and prepared for by those who work in the castle without need for instruction, which leaves you free to do other things, should you so desire.

Loki isn’t partial to one side of the camp versus the other on this matter. If he tried to flip a coin in an attempt to come up with a definitive answer, it would land on its side. And that in and of itself is answer enough: there are no conclusions to be drawn. It almost wouldn’t seem right to try to deduce which one is you specifically, not when the point of the masks is anonymity, even for the elusive lady. You’re the added layer of mystery all on your own, and it’s strange there are those so intent on wanting to solve you. What happened to the appeal of secrecy?

Still, he gets curious, just like all the rest. And when he attends these masquerades, he’ll float along the large floor, blue eyes scanning the crowd and wondering to himself who you might be. It’s more of a game than anything, and it’s one he doesn’t mind having no solution for. Occasionally he will spot Thor: he doesn’t attend as consistently, but whenever he does, it’s not exactly difficult to figure out which one is him. Maybe it’s the long blonde hair. Or it could even be the hearty guffaws and toothy grins so textbook for the god of thunder. Loki, on the other hand, stays silent for most of the evening. There are the intermittent conversations with any who might pull him aside, small talk of the happenings in their respective realms. Most of it is tedious and unexciting, and during these moments, Loki’s eyes begin to stray rather quickly, sliding away from the one before him and looking out towards the throng of other attendees. He’s not sure if the person he’s speaking with is offended or even notices, but if they are, they don’t say anything.

Sometimes he sees horns peak out from among the flurry of guests, attached to someone’s mask, serving as a sort of beacon because they are the only horns in the ballroom and it’s not often one chooses a mask so unusually daring. They draw his attention instantaneously, but with a blink, the horns are gone, and now he’s questioning if he’s seeing things because he has seen the same set of horns four galas in a row, moving along the floor in a crowd just full enough that Loki can’t find who the horns connect to, yet they always seem to disappear the moment he blinks. Is his mind fighting him on this? Is he wanting to find a princess who may or may not actually be there? He’d always considered himself indifferent to the issue. Have other people experienced this… hallucination? He’s not sure he can even call it a hallucination, because he believes that whenever he spots those black horns, they are as real as they can get. He’s the god of mischief, and he can sense a trick when he sees one. This is no trick.

“Brother? Are you all right?”

Thor’s question of concern causes Loki to tear his eyes away from the attendees in the center of the hall. Tonight, Thor dons a lion mask a shade of gold to match his hair, and through the eyeholes are blue eyes watching Loki closely, prepared to jump on any lie he might tell and get him to tell the truth, much like a lion catching its prey.

“I’m fine,” Loki responds.

Thor tilts his head and his eyes narrow in suspicion, but Loki’s own remain cool and collected. Lying is nothing new. But Thor knows his brother, and even though he picks up on the lie pretty quickly, he doesn’t say anything about it immediately, trying to figure out what might put Loki so on edge. This masquerade is hardly the place for it—it’s all drinks and dance and mirth, further proven by the loud music from the orchestra and the laughter which reaches his ears. Then he perks up when he knows the reason—not thinks,  _knows_. Because Thor knows his brother. “Looking for the princess, are you?” He can’t help the cheeky smile that finds its way to his lips at the question.

Loki rolls his eyes more out of habit than anything, because it is basically a conditioned response whenever Thor teases him in some way. He means to show that he’s not amused at all, but Thor is never deterred. “I’m not looking for the princess.” There’s no sense in carrying on the lie anymore, but he’s not willing to admit Thor is right.

Thor only laughs, then moves from standing in front of Loki to standing next to him, so they can both face the numerous guests before them. “I think… she’s that one. Just there.” He lifts a hand to point at a woman by the wall, not talking to anyone, only nursing a flute of champagne and observing the crowd, much like they are.

She wears a black cat mask accented with silver lace. There are no horns. “That’s not her.” The words are out of Loki’s mouth quickly.

Thor raises a brow in surprise at his brother’s response, fully assured and spoken with zero hesitation. “Okay then. Who do you think she is?”

Loki looks over the crowd again, looking almost desperately now for those set of horns. Because surely they belong to you. It is the most confident he’s felt about anything. And the moment he admits that to himself, he spots you in the center of the floor in that black mask with its black and shiny horns, speaking to someone in a brown owl mask—which appears to be quite expensive, for it’s made of leather. As if feeling Loki watching you, you look away from the one you’re conversing with and turn your gaze instead to him, and despite the distance your eyes are piercing through the material of his suit and through his skin, going in at his chest and coming out of his back. You have him lanced and at your mercy, and that’s quite the feat to have the power to put a god on his knees.

“Her.” It’s all Loki says before he’s walking towards you, intent to finally talk to you and try to make sense of how you’ve evaded him as well as you have. Thor doesn’t get the chance to respond, but he doesn’t mind. He leaves Loki to his own devices.

You’ve ended your conversation with the one in the owl mask and begin to leave the floor, walking towards the edge, where the exit of the ballroom is. People part as you pass as if they knew right from the start who you were. Loki is following closely, eyes on those horns, feeling as though he’s stalking prey of his own in the silver wolf mask he has on. But as you glance at him once more before ducking around the corner and he loses sight of you, he realizes he’s no match for a minotaur.

He walks faster to catch up, before you take too many turns down the hallways and he can’t find you again. The castle is large and he’s not familiar with it, only really having seen the ballroom. For all he knows he could be in areas where guests aren’t allowed. But he walks past multiple servants, and they pay him no mind. Perhaps it’s because he looks so focused, eyes glued to your back, that they don’t want to stop him.

You’ve come to a stop in another large hall, where upon the walls are multiple paintings. Loki finds you in the center, waiting, eyes on him, and as he walks toward you, slowly, cautiously, as if he might scare you away, his footsteps are loud on the wooden floors and echo. He doesn’t get too close, standing several steps away. And for a time the two of you simply watch each other, waiting to see who would speak first.

It’s Loki who does. “You wanted me to come after you,” he begins. He keeps his volume low because his voice carries well enough in the empty ballroom. “Why?”

You don’t respond, and Loki starts walking again, closer to you, and he’s fighting the urge to lift his hands to show he means no harm, like he’s dealing with a frightened animal. You remain where you are, and when he’s finally before you, he really takes in your features, those dark and inscrutable eyes, the straight line of your lips as you betray no emotion at all. You want Loki to do all the talking, to piece together things by himself.

“You’re the princess, aren’t you?” he asks, slowly removing his mask and holding it at its side. He sees something flittering in those eyes of yours: they seem for the briefest of moments to light up as he puts forth his suspicion, and gets it correct. But you keep silent, waiting to see what he would do next. His fingers twitch with the urge to remove your mask, to see your face, but your stare practically has him rendered immobile, and he can’t do it. Then his eyes drop down to your lips and something has never looked so soft or so inviting. The motion had been obvious, and he meets your gaze again—you don’t seem to disprove or want to back away. He’s a cat that’s caught the mouse and he supposes you’re both in agreement he gets to claim his prize, because it’s not the removal of the mask that’s the prize, for he already knows it’s you, the princess, and you already know that he knows.

So he leans in, eyes sliding closed, and you don’t rush to meet him, nor do you pull back. You stand still, waiting for him, and he’s close,  _so close_ , and his breath is hitching in anticipation. Surely your lips feel as soft as they look. He is eager to know for certain.

———

“Okay then. Who do you think she is?”

Loki blinks and looks at Thor, bewildered but trying not to show it. He reaches a hand up to his face and feels the mask still there. Thor is studying him, brow raised as he waits for Loki to give his answer, to point out a woman in the crowd that he believes is the princess whom no one has ever laid their eyes upon. As he drops his hand back down to his side, Loki’s eyes shoot straight to you where you stand in the center of the ballroom with the man in the owl mask, but this time you’re already watching him, and there’s a knowing look in your calm gaze. Loki’s trying to put the pieces to this together, because he thought he had everything figured out, but—

You smirk slightly, almost imperceptible if one weren’t looking for it, but Loki had been concentrating on you so hard that it’s easy for him to pick up on. And this time, when you start to leave the ballroom, Loki goes after you without giving his brother a response. He is hot on your heels, partly shocked at this turn of events but rather impressed at the way you’d caught him off guard. He keeps up much better, the gap between you two not nearly as large, as he follows you to that empty ballroom, where maybe you might actually grace him with some answers. Now he’s not quite sure who the trickster is here.


End file.
